There was a moment’s consultation, and then Justice McClave stepped forward and read in succession the text of an act of the New Jersey Assembly, a proclamation of the Governor, and an advertisement from the “New Jersey Gazette” by which documents, and by innumerable whereases and therefores, it was set forth that a state of war existed with Great Britain; that sundry inhabitants of the State, forgetful of their just duty and allegiance, had aided and abetted the common enemy; that by these acts they placed themselves outside of the laws of the commonwealth, their property became forfeited, and was ordered sold for the benefit of the State; that the property of one Lambert Meredith, who had been attainted, both by proclamation and by trial, of high treason, was therefore within the act; and, finally, that there would be sold to the highest bidder, at the court-house of the town of Brunswick, on the sixteenth day of August next ensuing, the said property of the said Lambert Meredith; namely, “Two likely negro women, who can cook and spin,” and thirty thousand acres of choice arable farm and wood lands under cultivation lease, with one house, one stable, and corn-cribs and other outbuildings thereto appertaining.

It took not five minutes to sell the sobbing slaves, the tavern-keeper buying Sukey for the sum of forty-one pounds, and the clergyman announcing himself at the end of the bidding as the purchaser of Peg for thirty-nine pounds, six.

Then amidst a silence which told of the interest of the crowd, the auctioneer read out a description of the bounds and acreage of Greenwood, and asked for bids.

“Nine thousand pounds,” instantly offered Bagby.

“Five hunded more,” rejoined Hennion.

“Ten thousand,” snapped Joe.

“Five hunded more,” snarled his rival bidder.

“Eleven thousand,” came Joe’s counter bid.

“Thirteen thousand.”

“And five hundred.”

“Fifteen thousand.”

Bagby hesitated, scowling, then said, “Sixteen thousand.”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen, five.”

“Yer might ez waal quit, Joe,” interjected Squire Hennion.  “I hez more ‘n’ yer hev, an’ I intends ter buy it.  Nineteen my bid, pa’son.”

“Twenty,” burst out Joe, malignantly.

“Twenty-one.”

“Twenty-five.”

Hennion’s face in turn grew red with anger, and he half rose, his fist clinched, but recollecting himself he resumed his seat.

“Going at twenty-five,” announced McClave.  “Will any one give more?”

A breathless pause came, while Bagby’s countenance assumed a look of sudden anxiety.  “I did n’t say twenty-five,” he quickly denied; “I said twenty-two.”

A wave of contradiction swept through the hall.

Nothing daunted, the honourable Joseph repeated his assertion.

“He, he, he!” chuckled Hennion, “thet comes of biddin’ more money than yers hev.”